A Triple Discovery
Blagden returned as he had come, quickly remounting the stairs of the
lodging house, ascending the ladder and crossing the roofs, and at
length, with a feeling of relief, clambered down into his own
dwelling, and re-entered his apartment, to find Mills and Atherton
seated at the table, busily examining the documents which Bellingham
had left behind him.
"Now then," said Blagden brusquely, "leave those papers alone a
minute; there's time enough for them later. But here's the question to
settle first. We've been listening to the damndest yarn I ever heard
in my life. And what I want to know is this. Do you fellows believe
it, or don't you?"
"I don't," Mills answered readily. "Not for a minute. Bellingham
appeared to be a very decent chap, but I don't consider him sane. I
think he's gone crazy over this thing. It's too tough a story to
swallow."
Blagden smiled. "Tubby," he rejoined, "you were born a doubter. You
may suffer from other faults, but your imagination will never be your
ruin; I'm sure of that. What do you say, Atherton? Do you believe it?"
"Yes, I do," Atherton promptly rejoined. "You see, Tubby," he added,
turning to Mills, "I've had the advantage of knowing Bellingham before
he knew he was being watched, and he was as sane a man then as you
would wish to see. Of course he's a nervous wreck now, but who
wouldn't be? He must feel like a hare with the hounds after him. I
hope he gets away all right."
"Oh, nonsense!" cried Mills unbelievingly, "he'll get away. I don't
believe he's being followed at all."
"Well, I do," Atherton retorted. "You can bet that fellow who was
after him was no ordinary detective, and if he had the enterprise to
be climbing pine trees at two o'clock in the morning, to get the goods
on Bellingham, I don't believe he's going to let him escape if he can
help it. What's your opinion?" he asked of Blagden, who stood by the
mantel piece, smoking furiously, his brow contracted as he pondered
over the amazing story to which they had just been listening.
Blagden laid aside his pipe and began pacing up and down the room.
"Frankly, Atherton," he confessed, "I'm puzzled. I'm half inclined to
believe the whole thing is true; it would explain practically
everything about the market which has perplexed us for so long. And
yet it's such a romantic, impossible sort of a tale that I can't
convince myself it's so; at least, not without further proof. But I'm
sure of one thing; we ought to investigate with all the care in the
world; it may be the opportunity of a lifetime. Can you make anything
out of his figures?" And he motioned toward the papers on the table.
"Not a great deal," Atherton answered. "I should say he was still in
the experimental stage; he's guessing at different theories, and then
seeing how they fit the facts. But of course, unless you've got the
whole code at your fingers' ends, you couldn't expect to follow the
ups and downs of the tape intelligently. He has made a beginning; it
remains for us to try to complete it."
"And what was the other paper he spoke of?" asked Blagden. "What did
he call it? 'The holy of holies'?"
Atherton started to draw it from his pocket; then, with an apologetic
half laugh, thrust it back again, walked to the door, and cautiously
reconnoitered. But no one was in sight, and accordingly he rejoined
his friends, again pulling the envelope from its resting place, while
Mills and Blagden peered eagerly over his shoulder. The first envelope
contained a second one; the second a third. "April fool," muttered
Mills. "I told you he was crazy," but was suddenly silent as Atherton
drew from the third envelope the paper, faded and yellow with age,
which Bellingham had found in the vault, and with it a typewritten
copy, explaining its contents as far as the secretary had been able to
decipher them. No faintest sound disturbed the stillness of the room
as they read, and as they finished, they remained motionless, staring
at each other, with all trace of levity or disbelief gone suddenly
from their faces. Then Mills, like a man awakening from a trance,
slowly passed his hand across his forehead. "He couldn't have faked
that paper," he murmured. "That's the real thing."
But the others scarcely heard him. "Then it _is_ true," said Atherton
at length. "Everything we've heard and guessed at, but never honestly
believed. There is a 'Money Trust,' there _is_ a 'System.' Good Lord,
it's like a dream!"
"A nightmare," responded Blagden grimly. "No wonder we couldn't win.
And now let's take our time, and go over it again. I should say that
'holy of holies' was right; I believe this scrap of paper is just
about the most important document in the world."
Side by side, they seated themselves at the table, and word by word
began their study of the cryptic talisman. Half way through Atherton
called a halt. "So far, so good," he observed. "As Bellingham told us,
it's the very height of simplicity. They feed the public with good
news, bait them with bull tips, and then when a sufficient number have
loaded up at the top, they break the market and incidentally break
the fools who have been caught. Then begins the campaign of bad
news--famine, pestilence and sudden death--then arrive the bear tips,
and when all the longs have been driven out and a new crop of suckers
have gone short at the bottom, then comes the accumulation by the
Money Gods and up goes the market for them to sell on to the next crop
of idiots who will never buy except at the very top, after stocks have
advanced from ten to twenty points. But all that doesn't help us much,
unless we can tell what is the bottom and what is the top. What we
want to know is about these signals. Signals on the tape. What a
wonderful scheme! When Bellingham found this paper, he must have felt
as if he had happened upon a ton of dynamite."
"Dynamite," said Blagden, "is a very happy word. If we could prove the
authenticity of this paper, we could just about blow this old country
sky-high. We could close every stock exchange in America, and drive
the Money Gods into exile for their health. Oh, 'dynamite' is too mild
a word; this would be a higher explosive than that."
As he finished speaking, Atherton was conscious of a sudden chill of
dismay. Rightly or wrongly, he had no desire to see harm befall Helen
Hamilton's father, and was correspondingly relieved to hear Mills
exclaim, "Yes, but we don't want to do anything like that. The only
time to be reformers is when we've made all the money we can use. We
want ours, Blagden, so for Heaven's sake don't think of blowing this
thing until we've had a chance at it."
Blagden smiled at the stout man's earnestness. "Oh, don't worry," he
reassured him. "I was only emphasizing the importance of the paper.
You are quite right, Tubby; let the Money Gods live and wax fat. All
we want is a few of the crumbs that fall from the master's table."
"Sure thing," Atherton assented with relief, "we're all agreed about
that. And now let's examine the rest of the paper. The signals
themselves; that's what interests us."
Once more they bent to their task. "On the watch," read Mills, "for
these signals. Now what is the sense in that? Of course they would be
on the watch for them. They would be fools not to."
But suddenly Blagden gave a cry of amazement, and his companions,
gazing at him, saw his face go white, and then flush with crimson. He
sprang to his feet. "I've got it," he exclaimed, half incoherent with
excitement. "Don't you see? _On the watch!_ It doesn't mean _be_ on
the watch; it means the watch itself. It's the missing words that
spoil the sense. It isn't a verb; it's a noun. _A_ watch. The watch a
man carries in his pocket. That's where the key to the cipher is, and
there couldn't be a better place. No one would suspect it, and it's
always at hand. That's what the girl told me; don't you remember?
Always looking at his watch, when she spied upon him by the tickers.
She is right. Her friend is one of these men. Just think of it. No
wonder she always won. And see what it means for us. Monte Cristo
wasn't in it. We've got a fortune in our grasp."
He paused, his eyes gleaming, his whole face tense with excitement.
Then, going over to the sideboard, he poured for himself an even
stiffer drink than he had prepared for Bellingham, and hastily gulped
it down. "I needed that," he said. "Some excitement to-night. This is
probably the wildest day of our bright young lives."
Atherton had remained seated, still intent upon the paper before him.
"Steady, Blagden," he objected. "You're jumping at conclusions. This
may be all coincidence. But your theory is ingenious. And if you
_should_ be right--"
He did not finish his sentence, letting his imagination dwell upon the
possibilities of the future.
"If I _should_ be right," echoed Blagden reproachfully. "Why Good
Lord, man, of course I'm right. If Tubby had doubted me, I could have
forgiven him, but you ought to have the vision to piece the thing
together. Oh, God--" he flared forth again, "what a bully old world it
is. Checkered, but never dull. Here we were, two days ago, busted like
a flat tire, and now the lamp of Aladdin awaits our touch. And all--"
he added suddenly, "because we cooperated. I'd forgotten that in the
excitement. I guess I'm the original little cooperator, all right.
Just think what's coming to us, boys. Steam yachts, motors, women--"
He smacked his lips, but Mills, the practical, now questioned, "Yes,
but what about getting the watch of this eminent but erring financier?
Are you going up to him to ask the time of day, and then will you grab
it and run? What's he going to be doing? Naturally he's no spring
chicken."
"Oh," Blagden answered with confidence, "that's merely matter of
detail. Once we know who the man is, we'll get the watch. Just look at
our advantage. We know what he's got, and he doesn't know that we
know. That gives us the whip hand, right away. As a matter of fact, I
dare say the lady could help us."
Mills brightened. "That's a good idea," he agreed. "Something like the
panel game. I believe that would work."
"But there's one thing," suggested Atherton, "that we ought not to
neglect. If Bellingham intends to leave the country, never to return,
we ought to be sure that we have everything he knows. Let's go over
these papers of his now, and make a list of anything we don't
understand. We could see him in the morning and have a last word with
him before he sails."
"You're right," Blagden cried, "but wait a minute first. There's
something else I want to see about."
He disappeared into his bedroom, from whence they presently heard the
tinkle of his telephone. Shortly he returned. "Now then," he said
briskly, "luck is still with us. I rang up the girl, pretending that I
wanted to see her to-morrow evening, and she told me that she was
engaged and that I must be sure and not come to her house. That, of
course, means only one thing. You, Atherton, meet me at Hillcrest
Station to-morrow night at eight, and we'll do a little detective
work. And you, Tubby, get up at five thirty to-morrow morning and go
over to the _Pernambuco_ with a list of questions that we'll make out
now. While everything is going our way, we'll lose no time."
For an hour or more they worked, and finally disbanded, Mills going to
his room to set his alarm clock and then, his brain on fire with
excitement, to toss restlessly about for the balance of the night,
with a hundred wild dreams and visions disturbing his rest. With the
first whirr of the alarm he was out of bed, and disposing of a cup of
coffee and a roll, he sallied forth to obtain the final information
from Bellingham. The good weather of the day before had vanished; the
morning was thick and foggy, and as he neared the wharves Mills found
himself inclined to shiver, half with the chill of the wind, half from
the over-excitement of the preceding night. He found the vessel
without trouble, a big, old-fashioned, somewhat dingy craft, and with
an inquiry or two made his way readily enough to Bellingham's cabin.
His knock, however, brought no answer, and after a moment's hesitation
he tried the door, found it unfastened, and walked in. The secretary's
bag lay open on the table, its contents tossed about in confusion, and
the secretary himself lay in his bunk, sound asleep. "Tired out,"
thought Mills, and crossing the cabin, he extended his hand to awaken
Bellingham, and in doing so inadvertently brushed with his fingers the
cheek of the slumbering man. The flesh, to his touch, was cold as
marble, and on the instant sudden dread gripped him by the throat as
he nerved himself for the ordeal and slowly withdrew the bedclothes
from Bellingham's face.
There followed a ghastly moment, and he found himself staggering back
across the cabin, faint and sick with horror, and with blotches of
crimson flashing and wheeling before his eyes. Then, by a mighty
effort recovering his control, he made his way, like a man in a dream,
on deck, back to the gang-plank, and thus to the shore, thanking
Heaven for the pall of fog which still enshrouded land and sea. Like a
criminal, he crept back to his lodgings, and like some hunted
fugitive, he kept all day to his rooms, a great dread in his heart as
he pondered on the craft and power of these unseen foes against whom
he and his friends had dared to wage unequal war.
And thus the long day passed, dark and lowering, with occasional
spurts of rain. But toward sunset the wind veered to the west,
scattering the clouds across the sky, with gleams of sunshine
filtering through the rifts, and by the time Atherton and Blagden met
at the station, clear stars were shining overhead and a crescent moon
gave promise of fair weather to come.
"Did you have any trouble getting away?" asked Blagden, as they
tramped up the narrow and deserted road.
"No," Atherton answered, "things have been quiet all day, and to-night
Mr. Hamilton was called to the city on business, and fortunately for
me he decided to go by train, so there was nothing to detain me. But I
don't mind telling you, Blagden," he added, "that I'm not a bit keen
about this whole business. Eavesdropping isn't a pleasant task, at
best, and if by any chance we should be caught, it would be a
humiliating experience."
"No fear," Blagden answered. "There's a hedge around the house thick
enough to hide a regiment. We'll creep into it, one each side of the
path which leads to the house, and there's an electric light across
the street that ought to make it easy enough to get a look at our man.
Tracing him afterward may be a more difficult matter, but I don't
think so. Naturally, he won't be suspicious, and that is a point in
our favor. Here we are, now, right ahead. Just before we reach the
drive, you duck into the hedge, and I'll walk by and then do the same
on the other side. Between us, we'll get a glance at him, and follow
him if we can."
Five minutes later, Atherton was comfortably ensconced in his hiding
place, and had settled down to what proved to be a tiresome vigil. Ten
o'clock came and went, half past ten, and then, at last, the sound of
an opening door, a glimpse of a man and woman in the dimly lighted
hall, a farewell embrace, the door closed and a man's figure came
leisurely down the path.
Atherton, with beating heart, strained his eyes upon the spot where
the man must pass. Now the footsteps came nearer, and nearer still;
now the man's figure was plainly visible in the radiance of the light;
and all at once Atherton was hardly able to repress a gasp of
amazement and consternation. For the face of the man was one that he
knew well. It was the face of Marshall Hamilton.